


In Fantasy

by fimbrethiel



Category: Nightrunner Series - Lynn Flewelling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:04:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fimbrethiel/pseuds/fimbrethiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seregil’s fantasy reveals his true desire.  Here’s the full story behind his journey to Dravnia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you not familiar with the Nightrunner series, I will stress that though Alec is referred to as ‘the boy,’ he is not a child. It bears repeating – he is not a child. By the standards of this medieval-like fantasy world, he is considered an adult.
> 
> Original date of completion: May 1, 2007

*~*~*~*~* 

Why in every fantasy  
Do I feel your arms embracing me  
Lovers lost in sweet desire  
Why in dreams do I surrender  
Lying with you baby  
Someone help explain this feeling  
Someone tell me

            - ‘If I’m Not In Love’, Faith Hill

 *~*~*~*~*

Seregil held his breath as the girl rolled closer in her sleep, suppressing a shudder of dread as her hand came to rest on the flat of his stomach.

 _By Illior’s Light, please don’t let her wake up,_ he prayed, lying as still and silent as he could, listening intently for her breathing to settle back into the soft rhythm of sleep.  _Not even with Nysander’s magic could I manage again tonight._

Playing the part of a gracious guest, Seregil had been obliged to partake of her family’s ‘hospitality’ – the very same ‘hospitality’ that she and her sisters had extended numerous times already that night, as well as the night before, not to mention the night prior, when he had been cheerfully accommodated by yet another generous host.  To refuse would shame the girls and their families, but Seregil was exhausted, spent, and a bit sore around the tender parts.  The very idea of being required to rise to the task again was daunting. 

 _Damn you, Nysander, couldn’t you have reminded me about this blasted Dravnian custom?_ he thought churlishly.  Though, he reflected with grudging respect, the crafty wizard must have withheld that reminder primarily because he _knew_ Seregil would have been difficult about it, and wasted time worrying about trying to lie his way out of his duties as a guest, rather than focusing on his mission.  Find the crown, or circlet, or whatever it was.  Everything else was secondary.

It wasn’t that Seregil didn’t like women.  He liked women quite a bit, actually.  Not as much as he liked men, but still…  The little affair with Lady Kylith was remembered fondly and, when entering an establishment on the Street of Lights, the face of ‘Lord Seregil’ was nearly as often touched by the roseate glow of pink lanterns as by the gleam of stark green light.

Just not _these_ women, in a situation not of his own choosing, in a frigid house in the middle of a glacier.  The girls had been nice enough in their own way, when they weren’t eyeing him as though he were a fatted lamb slated for a feast, but the distinct possibility (probability?) that he would be leaving behind a living legacy, in the form of a fair-skinned, pale-eyed, half-Aurënfaie spawnling, was vaguely nauseating. 

Seregil exhaled noiselessly with relief as the girl grunted and rolled away from him, her hand sliding harmlessly to the bed.

_Oh, thank Illior…_

Assured of at least another few minutes of rest, he relaxed and tried to meditate himself to sleep.

After a while, he gave up.  Steady snoring all around him and the shuffle and stench of goats and sheep from the first level made it impossible to enter the trance that would deepen to a meditative state, and finally, let him get some sleep.  He huffed and lay back on the pillow, rested his head upon folded arms, and let his mind wander.

He wondered how Alec had made out on his solo job at the baron’s house, and if he’d found more nightrunning work to keep him busy.  Nysander would check in from time to time, or send Thero in his stead, so Seregil was sure the boy would be fine.  But what worried him was Alec’s disappointment when Seregil had left him behind.  The boy had not been pleased at all when Seregil had made him vow to remain at the Cockerel and swear not to hunt him down. 

Seregil’s gut had clenched with guilt at having to keep such a secret from his young ward, and seeing Alec’s dark blue eyes blaze with a wounded gleam of resentment sorely tested his resolve to remain silent.  Alec had proven trustworthy in every way, and was already showing signs of being a formidable Watcher.  But tempted as he was, Seregil knew that Nysander’s counsel was sound.  For Seregil’s safety, for Alec’s _own_ safety, he must not learn of his mentor’s mission, or even of Seregil’s whereabouts.

_He’s too young, too green, too innocent, by far._

Smiling to himself in the dark, Seregil couldn’t help but be slightly amused by the irony of the situation.  For someone who had sworn the oath, had knowingly accepted that his chosen vocation as a Watcher depended upon thievery, burglary, and deceit to accomplish most goals... Alec’s entire _life_ since taking up with Seregil was a living lie, yet, despite the dishonesty inherent in his trade, Alec hadn’t lost a bit of his endearing Dalnan naivete.

Yes, the boy was still an innocent in every way, both in guile and in the ways of the flesh.  It was only by some miracle that he had managed to evade the clutches of some of the more jaded ‘ladies’ of Rhíminee society. 

Alec still guarded his virginity fervently.

Seregil had watched with carefully concealed amusement how the eyes of those women, and a good number of the men, too, followed Alec avariciously, contemplating whether it would be worth the risk to snatch him from under his ‘uncle’s’ watchful eye and determine for themselves if the boy really was as unsullied as he looked.  The lure of sampling the first fruit was a temptation too great for the unscrupulous to pass by.

Seregil preferred lovers with more experience – breaking virgins had never been to his taste – but he could certainly understand Alec’s appeal.  The boy was quite pleasing to the eye, with a thick fringe of rich, honey-colored hair that swept his forehead, framing incredibly expressive eyes, an intriguing and unique shade of deep blue that even nature couldn’t duplicate.  His form was hale but slender, deceptive strength concealed within his lithe frame.  His physique spoke of neither overt masculine brawn nor the near fragile effeminacy of some of the male courtesans of the Street of Lights.

A harsh cough from across the room jerked Seregil brusquely from these pleasant diversions.  He realized with a sharp pang of surprise and dismay that somehow, even as exhausted as he was, he was once again aroused. 

Hot on that disheartening discovery was the horrifying realization that it was those not entirely innocent thoughts of Alec that were to blame for his current bodily state.  A hot welling of shame flushed his face.  Bilairy’s Balls, what sort of lecher was he, to lust after his own charge?  Alec was only sixteen, not a child, perhaps, but little more to one of Seregil’s years.  To think of his protégé and friend in such a manner was entirely unsuitable, and a terrible breach of Alec’s trust.

Seregil had staunchly refused to examine the curious jolt in his stomach when watching the flex of Alec’s wiry arms as he pulled his bowstring, or when Alec tilted his head in a certain way, or caught his lip between his teeth when concentrating on picking a particularly complex lock.

It was only pity, Seregil told himself repeatedly, which had made him keep the boy on after their escape from the dungeon.  Alec needed watching over; Alec _depended_ on him, and had even from the beginning, because the child certainly hadn’t been capable of doing it for himself.  Without Seregil’s untimely, or rather, _timely_ , capture and incarceration, Alec would surely have been tortured to death in a matter of days, once his captors had tired of toying with him.  It was of Seregil’s own doing that the boy had been sucked into the life of thievery, and it was now Seregil’s duty to keep him from harm.

He told himself he had no idea what it was about Alec that had intrigued him so, that drew him to the pale-faced, terrified, wide-eyed boy he had rescued from the dungeon.  What he felt for Alec was simply affection and a sense of obligation.  He had saved Alec’s life, and was therefore responsible for him.  It was as simple as that. 

Except Seregil had a growing suspicion it _wasn’t_ as simple as that.

Resolving to put the matter out of his mind for now, he shifted within the musty sheets, pulling the heavy hide more firmly around him, and tried once again to clear his head so he could concentrate on the words from the palimpsest.

Over and over again, he ran through the riddle in his mind.  _Stone within ice within stone within ice…_

But after what seemed to be hours, he uttered a resigned sigh into the darkness.  The answer still wouldn’t come, and worse yet, he was still hard.  The tension in his lower body was going to make sleep impossible, unless he found a way to relieve himself.

 _Damn, this is inconvenient,_ he thought, with a curious mixture of frustration and amusement, staring up at the rafters.  _How in the hell do I manage to get myself into such situations?_

For all of two seconds, he considered trying to sneak to the privy under the guise of taking a piss, but he couldn’t get out of bed without crawling over one of the girls.  If one were to wake and see him standing at attention, so to speak…  no, that wouldn’t do at all.  Seregil was heartily sick of playing the stud for a tribe of round-faced, square-bodied women with greased-back hair smelling like last year’s unwashed laundry.  He wanted his own bed, his own bath, and a smooth, clean body to share it with.

Why couldn’t these girls have been boys, instead?  Slim, blond, flexible boys, with tight little asses and tongues like snakes.

That lusty vision brought on another jolt low down in his belly.  He groaned quietly; Seregil had slept rough many times, in all sorts of inhospitable places and situations, but few of those hovels could compare to the discomfort of trying to sleep with a rampant hard-on.  There was nothing left to do but try to relieve it, discreetly, without waking either of his bedmates.  Wasn’t the Rhíminee Cat a master of stealth and silence, after all?

Slowly, without shaking the bed, he raised his knees and let them splay slightly to the sides, relieving the pressure of the heavy blankets across his hips and giving himself some space for movement.  He held his breath and waited until he was certain that his movement hadn’t disturbed the girls.  Hearing only steady breathing from either side of him, he let his left hand stray under the warmth of the blanket, stopping to flick and rub at his nipple with a chilled finger.  He bit his lip to muffle the gasp of pleasure that almost escaped.  Surprised, he realized this would take far less time than he had anticipated, considering how often he had been forced to play the role of honored guest.

One hand idly tweaked and pulled at his own nipple, while his other stole further down to skim over his belly and circle his navel.  Slowly he traced his hand over his hip, long fingers splayed across the top of his thigh, and reached further to cup the tender sac below.

Abandoning the loose skin of his scrotum, he grasped his penis lightly, mindful of the tender flesh, and uttering a low moan of relief as his fingers finally closed around hot, moist skin. 

He squeezed lightly, stroking slowly down the shaft, and gently pulled back the foreskin so he could spread the slick fluids that gathered there, easing his way, soothing the abraded skin.  With slow, measured movements, he began stroking, taking great care not to jostle the bed, and let his mind conjure up one of his recent favorite fantasies, useful when indulging in this sort of activity.

Wythrin, a green-eyed courtesan from one of the exclusive brothels on the Street of Lights, had been one of Seregil’s favorites for a few months now.  By the Four, that boy knew tricks that made a man’s toes curl.  Wythrin could suck the shine off Seregil’s sword, if he set his mind to it.

He imagined Wythrin spread out on his great, deep bed, opening his arms in welcome. He lay down upon the young courtesan, kissing him deeply.  He felt Wythrin’s lips upon his nipple and pinched one of his own, imagining the hot warmth of Wythrin’s tongue giving it a flick, then a nip between his teeth.

It was difficult to keep his strokes slow and sure, to keep his hips from flexing, imagining Wythrin’s talented mouth sucking him, but Seregil welcomed the challenge.  It heightened his lust, fighting the impulse to finish himself quickly, instead, letting the deliciously slow teasing fuel his desire.

Alternating his touches between tiny cautious strokes and gentle squeezes, he paused every now and again to collect more of his fluids.  His hand was smooth and slick, his testicles heavy and aching to spill.  The burn and sting of his raw flesh had long since turned to pleasure.

Seregil was so deep in the erotic vision that he it escaped his notice when Wythrin’s sensual moss-green eyes changed to blue.  Deep, bottomless blue.

In his mind, he saw his lover sitting, turning over, rising to his hands and knees.  He looked over his shoulder and offered a sweet, shy, slightly embarrassed smile, so utterly engaging that it made Seregil’s heart swell.

A wave of honey-hued hair fell over one eye.  Alec’s fair cheeks were rosy with desire, and his face shone with the same sweet innocence that Seregil had always found so endearing.  Even in the dungeon, grimy and sweaty, with clumps of filthy straw clinging to lank and dirty hair, his face bruised and haunted, blue eyes enormous in a face that was far too young and open to have experienced such horrors, Alec had been striking.  Flushed with arousal, at once wanton and pure, he was utterly irresistible, and heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Alec,” he whispered, pressing gentle kisses to the curve at the base of the boy’s slender back and along his spine.

“Mmmm.”

Smoothing his hands across Alec’s lean flanks, Seregil curved over his back, running his hands over long, smooth thighs, mapping the planes and angles of his slim body.  Alec shuddered beneath him as he brushed a heavy fall of honey hair aside and kissed his shoulder blade.

“I want to see your face.”

Alec’s breath hitched and he rolled onto his back.  Seregil lay over him, chest to chest, feeling the steady thump of Alec’s heart beating against his.

With one hand, he stretched down to reach for Alec’s hand, furled within the sheets, feeling long, strong fingers close around his own.  Alec’s smooth, lanky legs wrapped around his hips.  Seregil guided himself gently forward, breaching that young, strong body, struggling against the desire to close his eyes in ecstasy.  It was suddenly the most important thing in the world that he be the first to see the wonder shining in Alec’s eyes as he discovered the bliss of lovemaking.

As Seregil pressed slowly forward, those bright eyes clenched tightly, Alec’s mouth drawing tight into a pained grimace.  Their twined fingers grappled on the bedsheets, in Seregil’s mind no longer dingy gray, rank with stale sweat and seed, but his own crisp satin and decadent velvet, in the wide, deep bed buried under the jumble of detritus in his room at the Cockerel.

He moved slowly and carefully, one hand still entangled with Alec’s, smoothing the lines of pain and tension that furrowed his lover’s brow with the other. 

“Open your eyes, Alec.  Look at me.  The pain will be over soon, I promise.”

When those magnificent sapphire eyes finally fluttered and opened, they shone with awe and amazement at this new feeling, this gorgeous, blissful, perfect sense of rightness. 

His own mystifying resistance to magic had once devastated Seregil, but at this moment, he knew Nysander had been wrong.  Seregil had created this magic himself, _of_ himself, with no innate talent but for his own hands, his own body.  Alec, golden hair spread upon the pillow in a tarnished halo, eager and passionate, free of inhibition, completely lost in the moment… this was true magic, and more precious than any ability to conjure delicate glassine balls or perform translocation spells.   

He smoothed the boy’s hair, his lips nuzzling the graceful curve of Alec’s jaw.  “ _Talí_ …” he heard his own husky murmur.

“Yes.” Alec’s breath was warm and sweet against his ear.

 _Talí_.

Beloved.  _Lover_.  That single word was infused with more meaning than the lengthiest of speeches, the weightiest of tomes.  Water never quite satisfies the thirst, when it is a fine wine that the palate craves.

Alec moved under him like the sea, as fluid and changeable as the waves, both beautiful and perilous.  When Alec craned his neck and kissed him, just barely touching the tip of his tongue in a hesitant swipe across Seregil’s lips, it was the end of Seregil’s self-control.  Throwing his head back, a great shudder wracked his body as he spilled himself with a low, throaty groan.

With the rhythmic pulsing still clenching his belly, Seregil lay back on the grimy sheets, hand draped between splayed thighs, slick wetness still coating his hand.  Tremors from the most intense orgasm he’d had in years still wracked his slim frame.  The fantasy had been so realistic that he had, for a while, really _been_ in Rhíminee, with Alec’s slight, strong body beneath his.  As he realized it wasn’t the slender warmth of Alec’s lanky frame curved against, him but the solid bulk of two Dravnian girls, disappointment, bleak and heavy, welled in his chest. 

He rolled to his stomach and wiped his sticky hand on a corner of the sheet.  A few additional smears on the grimy sheets wouldn’t really make a difference.  Resting his head on crossed arms, he felt the rapid thudding of his heart gradually slow to normal while he thought about what had just happened.

Well, Seregil my boy, you’ve really done it this time.  Now what are you going to do?

What had made this time different from all those other times of solitary pleasure, alone in some far-flung place or another, forced by distance or circumstance to do without the comfort of a lover?  The answer to the riddle in the palimpsest was no clearer, but there were two certainties in his mind. 

The first revelation was, surprisingly, far less unsettling than it would have been even a half-hour ago.  Seregil acknowledged that somehow, somewhere, at some time during the past months of their acquaintance, he of the judiciously shielded heart had fallen in love. 

 _Talí_. 

He mouthed the word, letting it rolled the word around in his mouth, savoring it the way it felt on his tongue like a succulent piece of fruit.  Yes, he could finally admit the truth, with conviction.  He was in love with Alec.

The second, Seregil knew with absolute surety, was that Alec must not find out.  The boy was so blindingly loyal that he would put some imagined obligation to Seregil before his own desires.  That was something Seregil couldn’t allow.  Loving Alec meant giving him the opportunity to discover himself, without pressure, without sway.  He needed time and opportunity to learn who he was, his past, his history, and to make his own way.  The only way he could do that was with a free heart and free mind, to make his own choices.

Whether the Oracle’s portent would come to pass and one day they would become lovers, only time would tell. Until that day came, _unless_ itcame, Seregil resolved to keep his newly realized emotion under tight reign.  It would be too much to hope that Alec would ever reciprocate his feelings beyond deep friendship and a staid, platonic, Dalnic love, but that was all right.

Father, brother, friend, would be enough.

Take what the Lightbringer sends, and be thankful.

*~*~*~*~*

In the city of Rhíminee, in a modest inn called the Cockerel, in by far the largest and most opulent bed he had ever slept in, a young man named Alec drifted through a gauzy veil of sleep and slowly came awake.

He sat up and looked around, blinking into the night.  He had been having the most wonderful dream.  He couldn’t quite remember the details exactly, except that the dream had been full of glorious colors.

He lay back down among the smooth, scented sheets of Seregil’s bed and closed his eyes, hoping to recapture the thread of the dream, but it danced somewhere just beyond the edge of recollection.  He sighed, then rolled over and snuggled deeper under the blankets, clutching his pillow tightly to his chest, as though in a lover’s embrace.  He fell asleep again, a faint smile still curving his lips.

*~*~* finis *~*~*

 


End file.
